The assembled guests followed the Emperor’s example and also bowed to the kneeling lord. The gathering became unnaturally quiet, and Lord Shonto felt a sudden chill.
Nishima became aware that she was being stared at and noticed out of the corner of her eye that Prince Wakaro, the Emperor’s middle son, was kneeling at one side of the dais. She was careful not to meet his eyes.
The Emperor raised his hand to an aide. He did not bother to look at him, and the man hurried forward carrying a silken pillow across which lay a sword in a very old scabbard. The Emperor took the weapon, unsheathing it and examining it with an expert’s care. Shonto felt the skin of his scalp tighten.
“Do you know this blade, Lord Shonto?”
“No, Sire,” Shonto said, his voice perfectly calm. Conversation flared suddenly, then quieted at the sight of the weapon.
Looking up from the sword, apparently satisfied, the Son of Heaven smiled, but his eyes were hard. “This sword belonged to the famous ancestor for whom you were named, Lord Shonto Motoru, who gave it as a gift to the Emperor Jirri II, his close friend. The Emperor and Shonto Motoru later fought and conquered the northern barbarians in the time of their greatest power, as you no doubt know. Sadly, Lord Shonto was killed by an arrow in the final battle.” The Emperor tested the sword’s edge with his thumbnail. “This is a gift to you, Lord Governor.” The Emperor’s expression was unreadable.
The aide came forward again, taking the sword from his master and placing it on the mat before Shonto.
“This is a great honor, Sire. I will always endeavor to be worthy of it.” The ritual words seemed strangely hollow to Lord Shonto.
“See that you do. Put it in your sash, Motoru-sum. You may wear a sword in my presence.”
Shonto bowed his head to the mat before taking up the weapon. “I will wear it always for the Emperor’s protection, Sire.”
“We must speak again later.” Around them the sound of conversation resumed. “Lady Nishima, we look forward to your recital.”
Lord Shonto and Nishima bowed once more, rose, and backed away. A young man dressed in the black kimono with the Dragon Fan of the Emperor’s staff stepped forward.
“Lady Nishima, I have an instrument for you, and the Lady Kitsura awaits. May I escort you?”
Nishima touched her uncle’s arm. “Remember, you promised me an introduction.” There was much unsaid between them as she turned to join her cousin.
Shonto watched his daughter as she disappeared into the crowd, her long sleeves dancing as she moved. She is precious to me, he thought, and this is a dangerous time for such feelings.
He turned toward a table laden with food, his hand resting on the unfamiliar hilt of the ancient sword of his namesake. Lady Okara appeared among the river of passing faces. She bowed to Shonto, who returned the formality with equal courtesy. Without any discussion they began to walk toward the edge of the garden, away from the press of people.
Large, flat stones had been arranged along the pond’s shore in a pattern of studied randomness, asymmetry being one of the laws of Waian art. Stepping out onto these islands of granite the two old friends were alone.
“So Mito-sum, I have just watched as you were honored and threatened at the same time,” Lady Okara said. She was a tall woman with immense dignity and presence and Shonto admired her greatly.
“It was quite a performance.” Shonto seemed to consider for a moment and his body visibly relaxed. “No matter. Tell me, Lady Okara, how has the Emperor tempted you to one of these—what is the term you use?—social dog fights?”
“He used the greatest of all coercions—he appealed to my vanity. The Lady Okara is here to be honored, and one does not refuse to be honored by one’s Emperor.
“He has had my Twenty-one Views of the Grand Canal set to dance. I admit to being curious as to how this has been done. I might add that I’m more than a little suspicious. Art is not something that the Yamaku have ever shown an interest in.” She reached out and the hand which squeezed Lord Shonto’s was cold. “What possible use can he have for me, Mito-sum?”
“I can’t imagine, so perhaps the compliment is real. You richly deserve it, you know.”
“Even you have become a flatterer!
“I see your lovely daughter is with you, Mito-sum. You’ve waited a long time to find her a husband, yeh?”
Shonto shrugged.
“Perhaps the Emperor will choose his heir soon and that will help you with your decision?”
“That doesn’t seem likely.” Lord Shonto sighed and looked over his shoulder. “He doesn’t think that anyone is fit to replace him on the Dragon Throne, including his sons. This makes all of them somewhat less suitable as husbands.”
“But if one of these sons had a good advisor, he might last long enough to pass the Throne to his son, making the mother very important.”
“The Shonto family have never had designs on the Throne, Okara-sum, everyone knows that. I don’t think my grandson will carry the Sword of Imperial office, and that does not concern me.
“Finding Nishi-sum a suitable husband, without insulting the Imperial family—that is my real problem.”
“She carries too much of the old Imperial blood for her own good. If you marry her to the Yamaku, you strengthen their claim, and if you marry her elsewhere her sons will always be a danger to the Emperor. I don’t know anyone who has enough power to risk having her as a bride.”
“You’re right, Okara-sum, there’s no one—not now.”
“Poor girl.” The woman’s voice was sad. “She is a soldier on a vast gii board.”
“She is the Empress, but refuses to recognize it. Nishima-sum would like nothing better than to marry a poet and spend the rest of her life pursuing art—but this is not possible.”
“A life in art is not as easy as it sounds, Mito-sum. I know.”
They turned away from the Seahorse Pond after allowing themselves one last moment to enjoy its reflecting beauty. Their conversation turned to less private matters as they rejoined the other guests.
“I must introduce you to Nishima-sum. She idolizes you.”
“Best she meet me, then, and learn that I am human—I would be happy to receive her.”
Servants were spreading straw mats and cushions on the lawn before the stage and the guests had already begun to seat themselves in anticipation of the night’s entertainment. Shonto and Lady Okara chose a position off to one side nearer the back. Better places were available for people of their rank, but Shonto wanted to be able to watch both the stage and the Emperor. He had not survived as long as he had by missing opportunities to scrutinize those in power.
Cushions were arranged on the stage and a harp of carved ivory set before them. When everyone was seated, a man of the Imperial court, a scholar of some note, appeared on the stage and bowed twice—once kneeling, for the Emperor, and once very low but standing, to the audience. The first full moon of autumn showed its copper rim on cue.
“Honored guests of the Emperor of Wa,” the scholar began, “the Emperor has asked the Lady Nishima Fanisan Shonto and the Lady Kitsura Omawara to honor his assembled guests with a recital of the ‘Song of the Enchanted Gardener.’” The man bowed to the curtain from behind which the Ladies Kitsura and Nishima emerged. They bowed twice and took up their places before the attentive audience.
In her hand Kitsura held a silver flute almost half her height in its length and Nishima sat poised behind the harp. They began.
The flute and harp followed each other in delicate measure, through the three movements without hesitation or error. It was clear the cousins had played this piece together many times. Out of the corner of his eye Shonto watched the Emperor. He could see the middle son sitting to one side of the dais watching the performance raptly. Yes, Shonto thought, I have a problem. He looked back at the Emperor and realized that the father was equally captivated. I hope it is Kitsura that he desires, Shonto thought. He gazed up at the young flutist and felt a stirring himself. A
nd to whom, he wondered, will Lord Omawara marry his daughter? He put the question aside for further consideration.
With a moving crescendo in intricate counterpart, the “Enchanted Gardener” drew to a close and the music was over. The applause was more than polite.
The courtier returned to the stage. “It is the Emperor’s wish that these instruments, which once belonged to the courtesan Ranyo, be presented to Lady Nishima and Lady Kitsura in gratitude for their performance.”
The members of the audience bowed as the players left the stage.
“She plays very well, Mito-sum,” Lady Okara said. “Who was her teacher?”
“My formal Spiritual Advisor, Brother Satake. He was a man of many talents. I miss him.”
“They are a charming breed, the advisor monks. Do you think they are educated to be that way?”
Shonto shrugged. No, Oka-sum, he thought, what they are taught is focus. It is the source of all their abilities—and what I wouldn’t give for that one skill!
Nishima was making her way through the crowd toward her uncle and Lady Okara, her progress slowed by the need to stop and acknowledge each compliment. She stopped and bowed at almost every step.
“Nishima-sum,” Shonto said as she slipped off her sandals before stepping onto the mat, “The ‘Enchanted Gardener’ has seldom known such enchantment.” He bowed deferentially to his daughter. “I must say that the Emperor’s musical tastes…”
“Are exactly the same as yours, Uncle,” she leaned toward him to whisper, “and nothing to be smug about, let me assure you.”
Shonto turned to his friend. “Lady Okara, may I introduce you to my impertinent only daughter, Nishima-sum.”
“I am honored, Lady Okara. I have long been an admirer of yours, and if my secretive uncle had told me before this evening that you were friends, I would have asked him to introduce us long ago.”
“After listening to your performance, I must say the honor is mine. How lovely you play, my dear. If you paint as well as your father assures me you do, then your talent is prodigious indeed. You must come and visit me in my studio one day.”
Nishima broke into a smile, “I would be glad to, Lady Okara. Thank you.”
The moon had now risen sufficiently to cast light into the garden where it made a path across the Seahorse Pond, and mixed with the colored light from the lanterns.
The courtier came out onto the stage again and bowed twice before speaking. “Tonight the Emperor asks that we pay honor to Lady Okara Haroshu, whose series of woodblock prints, Twenty-one Views of the Grand Canal, has, at the Emperor’s request, been set to dance by the Sonsa Troupe of the Imperial City.”
He turned and bowed toward the curtain from behind which the first dancers would emerge. Unseen attendants shaded the lamps and cast the stage into comparative darkness. Dew glistened on the lawns and a warm breeze came in off the nearby lake.
Wooden drums began a low, syncopated rhythm and a single lantern was unveiled to reveal a group of dancers, dressed as peasants, stooped under invisible burdens in the predawn. A flute began to mingle with the drumming, the notes fluttering like a butterfly on a breeze. The half-dozen dancers, wearing the loose fitting clothes and the flattened, conical hats of field workers, began to drop their burdens and dance along the tow path. More lanterns were unveiled illuminating the backdrops, which were painted in a style similar to Lady Okara’s, though greatly simplified. The dancers began a series of pantomimes of courtship and revelry, the suppleness that came from long years of Sonsa training captivating the crowd. A young woman stepped forward to dance a solo and Nishima touched her uncle’s arm.
The Emperor’s new lover, Shonto thought. Of course Nishima had never seen her before, but he was sure she was right. And yes, the woman was beautiful. Even in her peasant costume the perfection of her dancer’s body was obvious.
Dance your best, Shonto thought. The Emperor is not always kind to those he discards. Your only strength then will be your talent, because no one will dare to take you to wife.
But she could dance! She was not just some flower the Emperor had plucked and set in the sunlight. She was a talent. Perhaps this would protect her. With some effort he turned his eyes away to study the Emperor. The ruler’s admiration for his Sonsa was absurdly blatant—no more subtle than the emotions of a child. She is in no danger from him tonight, anyway, Shonto thought, unless his lust is to be feared.
The drumming returned to its original cadence, then stopped abruptly, the dancers frozen in the poses of the peasants in Lady Okara’s print, On the Tow Path at Dawn. On top of the curving bridge the Emperor’s lover balanced, her arms thrown out gracefully and one foot in the air as if she had just jumped for joy. The lanterns were shaded as the applause began. The guests near Lady Okara bowed to her and paid her compliments.
Six more of the Twenty-One Views that made up the Grand Canal sequence were performed, each as clever as the first, four featuring the talents of the Emperor’s lovely Sonsa.
How he flaunts her, everyone thought, but what will become of her, poor child? She was not of a good family, as everyone knew, a vassal-merchant’s daughter, and therefore not entirely without education, but still…. There was no denying her talent, though. Breeding or no, she would have been a marvel during any dynasty.
The dancing came to an end and received prolonged and enthusiastic applause. Lady Okara was surrounded by bowing guests, all of them wishing to be seen with anyone so honored by the Emperor.
Lady Okara rejoined Shonto and Nishima as her admirers wandered off to eat and laugh and court and gossip.
“Oh, Mito-sum, this isn’t good for a person, all of this.” She waved her hand to encompass the garden in general, at a loss for words. “I must pay my respects to the Emperor before I leave.”
“Okara-sum, don’t be in such a rush to go. The worst is over. You have survived! Let me get you some wine so that you may begin to enjoy the rest of the evening.” Shonto smiled at her, his voice full of affection. He was touched by his friend’s discomfiture.
“Well, one cup and then I must go,” Lady Okara conceded.
Shonto left his friend in his daughter’s care and set off to find a servant. One came to his aid before he had gone far.
“Lord Shonto,” an unfamiliar voice called. A young man who looked vaguely familiar strode toward Shonto across the lawn. The lord sent a servant hurrying off to look after Lady Okara and turned to speak to the young man.
“Excuse my bad manners, Lord Shonto,” He bowed. “I am Komawara Samyamu.”
Ah, yes, Lord Shonto thought, the same slim build and the long thin nose. If this youth is anything like his father, his apparent lack of muscle is deceptive. The old Komawara had been a strong swordsman and lightning fast.
“I am pleased to meet you, Lord Komawara.” Shonto returned the man’s bow. “I met your father several times when I was young. He was an impressive man.”
“Yes, a great loss to us all, I’m afraid. I honor his memory.” He caught Shonto’s eye and hesitated briefly before he went on. “I understand that you will come to Seh as our new governor. It is about time that the Emperor sent us a soldier! I mean no disrespect to Lord Shidako—he has admirably resolved the problems left by the corrupt Hanama bureaucracy.” He let the statement hang in the air, but Shonto didn’t take the offered opportunity to either criticize the Hanama or to praise the Yamaku.
The young lord was obviously unnerved by Lord Shonto’s lack of response, and his resolve seemed to flounder momentarily. “Your daughter plays very well, Sire. The Shonto continue to produce artists, to the good fortune of the rest of us. I have recently read your father’s memoirs—what a delightful approach he took to his life!”
Shonto nodded, letting the man ramble on, wondering what this young lord’s purpose was.
Lord Komawara’s eyes hardened and he regained his determination.
“Will you come to Seh soon, Sire?”
“Yes, very soon.”
“Tha
t is good. Perhaps you will get to the bottom of these mysterious raids.”
“I didn’t realize that they were thought in any way mysterious, Lord Komawara.” Politics, Shonto thought, everyone must have a theory.
“It seems, Sire, that only I find them unusual. May we speak privately, Lord Shonto?”
“Certainly, I am most interested.” Shonto pointed off to their left where they could talk without being overheard. He had liked the old Komawara immensely, though he’d been a man doomed by his refusal to change with the times.
“As a native of our northern province, Sire, I have had first-hand experience of the ways of the barbarian tribes all of my life,” the young man began, the tones of his father’s voice occasionally echoing among the words. “I have traded with them when we were at peace, and fought with them the rest of the time. I have to say that in both areas they are formidable and have no code of honor whatsoever!
“Through all the years that we’ve warred with them, though, two things in their behavior have remained consistent. They are always bold. Bold beyond anything these people would imagine,” he waved a hand at the assembled guests with a slight disdain, “and, whenever it is possible, they take our women. This never fails! It is more than just the fair skin. One of our servant girls is valued above the daughters of their most powerful chief! A woman of Wa is the greatest prize a barbarian can have. Of course this has always been their undoing. The men of Seh cannot live with this dishonor, so we cross the border and burn their villages, driving them back into the barrens—for a time.
“This game of raiding our villages and estates always has the same end, yeh? But recently, Lord Shonto, the behavior of the barbarians has changed.
“It has always been their practice—for hundreds of years—to press their attacks with total commitment and when our reinforcements arrive, to either stand and fight or, if they are vastly outnumbered, to wait until the last possible second before they retreat. This is the kind of bravura I expect from them. They despise cowards more than anything. But in these new raids they don’t risk a single man! They are always gone before our reinforcements arrive and they seldom even break through our stockades. I know them, Sire, I have watched them all my life. This is not proper barbarian behavior!
The Initiate Brother Duology Page 8